


Earth, 2008

by tristesses



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Doctor makes the right decision, and learns to adapt to life on Earth. Well, sort of. Not really. But a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earth, 2008

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 1/9/2009.

In the end, the Doctor thinks sadly, there is only one option, one timeline to follow, even though that's never the case and he knows it well. But in the past few years – it's strange how inconsequential these passing years once seemed – he's realized his reformed role in this universe, now absent of the race who once ran it so smoothly. Now it's just him, the Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God, and he knows what's right (for Martha, for Donna, for Jack, for everyone); he merely chooses the path he deems correct and necessary for his English rose, as always, and to hell with the repercussions. (Oh yes, it's selfish, it's wrong, it's manipulative and controlling, but it will make her happy. It _will._ )

In the beginning, the Doctor reflects, stroking bits of the TARDIS as he paces around the control panel – he knows that in all likelihood he won't see her again, so he's saying his goodbyes now, before it really sinks in – there's only one option. He can feel that little slice of Donna residing in his skull – maybe they can figure out a way to switch that, Donna's lovely and everything but he _does_ want his own head back – and he can feel the tenuous thread of newly-created supercharged particles linking them together, like the threads of the Furies, a _snip_ and she's dead. But that won't happen; leaving her isn't even an option.

They argue on a cold Norwegian beach, with old friends and lovers as silent witnesses. Perhaps the Doctor is furious at meeting a creature who will not obey him, out of love or fear, the first time since the war; and perhaps the Doctor is coldly enraged that the Time Lord is willing to kill a friend to save another; and perhaps their anger is justified. But in the end, Rose is left small and alone, standing on the wet sand of an alternate universe, because she can survive it, and Donna is clutching her Doctor's hand (or perhaps it's the other way around) in the TARDIS as the other Doctor flips switches in a cold state of fury and denial, and when the two step out the doors for what could be the last time, he doesn't say goodbye.

  
**. . .**   


 

So, this is Donna and the Doctor at two o'clock in the morning, standing on the pavement in a drizzle of rain. The cold rising from the concrete bites through their shoes. They are silent, unsure of what to say, Donna brimming with emotions she doesn't know what to do with, the Doctor clumsy and awkward and angry, trees and grass and world bleak and chilled around them.

Donna steps closer, presses her hand to the Doctor's chest.

"One heart," she says quietly. "That's weird."

"Yeah," he agrees, with a faint half-smile. "Imagine how I feel."

Donna shakes her head. The Doctor's not sure if he's ever seen her this quiet for this long of a stretch. She's shivering just slightly, so he steps forward, puts an arm around her, pulls her close. (A human body temperature, running at a boil; the blood pounding through his system feels superheated but at least now his hugs don't leave the other person chilled.)

"We should go in," he says to her hair, and is almost ashamed at the tremor in his voice.

"Nah," she says with a little snort, "I don't fancy explaining this to my mum. Not yet, at least."

"Oh no." A wave of dread splashes over him, and he says in a doom-laden tone, "Mothers."

"You'll manage," she says bracingly, patting him on the back.

"No, I won't," he sputters, stepping back as he gesticulates fiercely. "There's _mothers,_ and getting a _job_ , and _mortgages_ , and – and – " He punctuates this last stutter with a feeble wave of his hand.

"Domesticity?" Donna asks with a smirk. He rolls his eyes at her, quite expressively, but it sort of hurts his head and he doesn't know why she always does it.

"Well, you can work for Torchwood," she says after a moment, plopping herself down on the curb. "That way you can get your daily quota of saving-the-world in without, you know…"

"The TARDIS?"

"Yeah."

He waits for her to finish her thought – something along the lines of "and then we could work together and it would be just like old times" (only minus the TARDIS – thinking about it still pains him a bit) but she just sighs and continues morosely.

"I suppose the temp agency will take me back – "

"What? Donna, no!" He drops down next to her, ignoring her foreboding expression.

"You're brilliant, Donna, don't you know that?" He taps her forehead. "All my brain, stored in here, but with that vitality and heart that's just so – human!" He presses his palm against her chest and feels her heart beating quickly before she squirms away and snaps, "Oi, spaceman, hands off!"

"Not quite a spaceman anymore," he points out, lolling back on his elbows, not caring about the wet oozing through his suit. Donna's staring at the stormy grey sky, eyes thoughtful. The rain's soaked her hair and blouse, and she looks far-off and regal. In fact, she looks beautiful, quite beautiful. The Doctor is rather dismayed at his realization of this fact. _Go on and complicate things, you daft old sop._

"I could work for Torchwood," she says softly, and then flashes him a grin. "It'd be brilliant, working for Torchwood! No, _I'd_ be brilliant. You'd better watch out, Doctor – " she points at him, grinning wickedly, "you've got competition in the brains department now."

 _"Donna?"_ The slightly screechy female voice comes from the front door – _mothers_ , honestly, why did all his companions have the worst luck with mothers? – followed by a joyous cry of "Donna!" from her grandfather.

"Mum, Granddad!" she shouts, scrambling up from the pavement. "Look, I've a lot to explain – "

The Doctor remains slouched, and looks up at the sky, rain splattering his face. _Home,_ he thinks, with a faint trace of disbelief. _This is home, now._

"Doctor! Are you going to sit around all gloomy in the rain or come in?" calls Donna. He thinks the cheer in her voice is fake, but he isn't certain.

"We'll manage," he mutters to the rain, unfolds from his position, and walks inside.  


  
**. . .**   


The most uncomfortable thing about being human isn't the mortgages or having a steady job or dealing with Sylvia or even his newfound proclivity for tee-shirts and jeans (which he blames entirely on his Donna-side), but the human libido, which runs at a much faster and far less controlled pace than the sex drive of any regeneration he's had. He understands why his companions were always pairing off now – he understands what was going on with Martha, even – all these exotic erotic images, racing through his mind, some of them people he's seen on the street or in films but mostly Donna, in all sorts of positions (and oh, how she'd kill him if she knew!), Donna half-dressed in knickers and a wet towel in the loo of their flat, Donna with that smirk he likes so much as she slowly _removing_ that towel, Donna's hands on his sweaty hips and her lips sweetly wrapping around –

"Stop, just stop," he says, squinting into the shower spray, then gently banging his head against the tiled walls. "Okay, the vortex manipulator – if we rewire the main circuitry to tap in to the Rift – that could give us enough energy for proper time travel – " _We_ and _us_ being, of course, he and Donna, and – oh, _Donna._

The Doctor leans against the tile, and when he ghosts his fingers along his most sensitive of skin, his eyelids flutter shut, he bites his lower lip, the film rolling in his mind stars one gorgeous ginger actress playing a variety of parts in a variety of costumes but underneath it all it's just Donna, flashes of red hair and grinning blue eyes and his breath is a little harsh and uneven, his teeth are digging deeper into his lip as he finds his rhythm and when he comes he nearly yelps, but he inhales water and ends up coughing a lung up while the shower washes his evidence away.

Later, after he's dressed for work and driven to the Hub and accepted his cup of coffee from Ianto, Donna gives him a strange look and says, "What happened to your lip?"

He chokes on his drink and manages to avoid answering, but he can't hide the flush on his cheeks or evade the speculative glance Jack throws his way, and when he's working furiously on a piece of Talyordan technology that fell out of the Rift, the phrase gamboling through his mind is simply and coarsely _Fuck the human libido._

When he realizes the pun he giggles to himself, but refuses to explain.  


  
**. . .**   


"Your mum called," he tells Donna as she strides into their flat, tossing her coat on the sofa theatrically. He picks it up and goes to the wardrobe automatically – she isn't skilled at putting things where they belong. He never used to be, either; maybe they switched. "She wants to know if you're surviving Cardiff or if you've killed yourself from boredom, and also if we're sleeping together yet." Sylvia had said no such thing, but sentences like that were slipping out of his mouth lately. "Oh, that's weird, saying things like your mum called. I still haven't got used to that."

"I just might kill myself, unless the bloody chip shops start staying open till midnight," she says with a sniff. "I mean, I come off work, I've been fighting aliens all day, and is it my fault if I want some chips? No! It's normal! But they're all _closed_."

"How _dare_ they," he says, a trace of irony in his tone. "Close at normal human hours, I mean. That's just outrageous."

"I know! And – oi, shut it." She smacks his head affectionately on her way to the kitchen; he hangs her coat up and follows.

"It's weird she'd say that, about us," she says, rummaging through the cupboards. "No bloody crisps, either. I want salt."

"Us?" he asks, lounging against the countertop, ignoring her food rantings.

"Me and you, you know, _together_. Once she found out you were an alien she shut up about that, let me tell you."

"Yeah, well, I'm not an alien anymore, am I?"

Donna pauses; her hair's grown longer, he notices, a little ragged and kinky from the day's work, and she's got new lines around her eyes (laugh lines, at least), but those rough edges only serve to make her lovelier, more authentically human and real. He's got new lines, too, and a few grey hairs; the ravages of time, something he's never experienced quite so personally before.

Donna's looking at him, blue eyes piercing, as if she's studying him. He folds his arms protectively.

"No," she says in a pensive voice. "You're one hundred percent human, aren't you?"

He licks his lips, suddenly aware of their proximity as her eyes flick down his body, back up to his face; there's something delightfully wicked in their glow now. She arches one eyebrow, and he sidles closer, covering her hand with his on the counter.

"One hundred percent human," he repeats. "Want me to show you?"

"Still full of yourself, are you?" she says, right before she kisses him, which quickly turns into a snog, which results in him shirtless and Donna pressed against the counter, her hands wrapped in the Doctor's hair, torn between laughing and gasping as he licks a trail down her neck to the curve of her collarbone.

"This blouse is in the way," he tells her, with that no-nonsense tone that means he's going to sonic something into oblivion, and she hastily pulls her blouse over her head, and so what if the buttons get tangled in her hair and caught on her necklace? It gave him room to unclasp her bra and suckle on her nipple, swirling his tongue around the nub, drawing a whine from her throat.

"Doctor!" she says insistently, wriggling, not-so-accidentally wrapping a leg around his hips, drawing him closer.

"Oh! Sorry," but the blouse is too complicated for him right now – _guess it's true what they say about blood flow in the human male,_ he thinks, and giggles inappropriately – Donna huffs at either that or his lack of progress, so he just rips the blouse along the front, flinging buttons about the kitchen.

"That'll be hard to fix, sorry," he pants, and she sucks on his earlobe, making him squeak, her hands stroking his back; she mouths "Shut up" against his neck where it meets his shoulder when he tries to speak (incoherently; he's not sure what he'd say right now except variations on the sentence "Oh Donna please yes" with a few swearwords thrown in), she tweaks his nipple with her nails (the little bite of pain makes him shiver and press even closer), she's gasping "Doctor, a little help?" and he threads his fingers through her belt loops and helps her wriggle out of her trousers. Simple knickers, dark green cotton; he kneads her with his knuckles and she bucks against him.

"Ready when you are," she says breathily, and he gulps.

"Right, yes, I – " He fumbles in his pockets for that little foil packet he's kept there just in case, and feels slightly panic-stricken when he can't find it, his neediness apparent and a little painful, pushing against his jeans.

"Just – oh, sod it," he says finally, and eases between her knees, sliding one hand under the curve of her pale hip. She's smiling, a little nervous, her face flushed, and as their eyes lock they pause; but then she wraps her hand around his sweaty neck and pulls him in for a kiss as he slides into her, and even the way their teeth clash is a perfect fit.

She cries out, just a little, as he thrusts; he says, amazed, "Oh, Donna, fuck, you're magnificent," and she gives a throaty chuckle that turns into a groan. She arches against him, angling her hips to accommodate his deeper thrusts, and he makes a little strangled sound in the back of his throat, and crushes his lips to hers again; their rhythm is erratic and shaky and glorious and her whimpers give way to an almighty cry and he explodes all over her thighs as she convulses, leaving scratches on his back, and as they lean against the counter he's shivering.

"I – " he begins, but his throat is hoarse. He clears it, and starts again. "I – that was – you – thank you."

"Want to try that again?" she asks with a chuckle, threading her fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck.

"Donna, I love you," he tells her, his treacherous human mouth letting the words slip out, and she presses a kiss to his head and says, "I know. Me too."

"I hope you don't still want to go out with Jack."

She snorts and says, "No. Well – okay, a little, but not in any sort of real way. I mean, I like you better, and you and Jack are polar opposites – "

She stiffens, and he lifts his head from its resting position on her stomach. "What?"

"Polar opposites – reversing polarities – Doctor! We've got to get to the Hub!"  


  
**. . .**   


There's nothing prettier than Donna spouting off technological info seen through a shower of sparks, doing things to the vortex manipulator the Doctor would never have considered.

"Reversing the polarity?" he inquires, leaning over her shoulder.

"Yes, and tapping into the Rift energy – _but backward!_ So it's pulling from the Void, it won't hurt our world at all!"

"Donna, that's brilliant!" And it _is_. He wouldn't have thought of it. Wouldn't have thought it possible, as a matter of fact. Draining energy from the Void. It takes a human.

She flashes him a grin. "Yeah, well, you helped."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, all your natterings in the shower gave me the idea to get the energy from the Rift."

"You – " He's having trouble processing this. "You spied on me in the shower?"

"Well, it was hard to avoid."

"You – " And now he was blushing. Lovely. "You knew what I was doing, didn't you?"

"Of course I did, you're a man." She gives the manipulator a final twist, and holds it up in glee. "It works!"

"Ha!" he yelps exultantly, and snatches it from her, studying it. "Donna, have I mentioned you're brilliant?"

"Not enough," she says with a smirk. "So, where to first?"

He glances at her, then around at the Hub. Her smile fades as she follows his gaze.

"You're right," she says quietly. "We can't exactly go off and leave them here, can we?"

The Doctor measures the weight of the vortex manipulator against his attachment to his life here, and finds the latter wanting. It's his key out of here, back to adventure and universe-saving and what he's meant to do, and maybe he'll grow old and die but he'll do it on the lam, with Donna, the way it's meant to be.

"They can manage," he says with a roguish grin, strapping it to his wrist, and she laughs.

"Where'd you set the coordinates to?" she asks as she grips his wrist.

"Random," he says, and she finishes his sentence. "Just the way we like it."

They're dressed in their jimjams, askew and untucked, but the grin on Donna's face tells him not to wait.

"Ready?" he asks, just in case.

"Allons-y!" she cries gleefully, and he thumbs the button, and they dissolve into atoms, the DoctorDonna on the run, as it should be.


End file.
